


ὀργή

by SonataForMyOverdosedLover



Series: And in her arms he'd kill the Maker, each time, a little more [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anger, F/M, a story depicted in moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:56:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonataForMyOverdosedLover/pseuds/SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ὀργή  - (Greek) - anger, wrath, agitation of the soul, impulse, desire, a violent emotion, anger exhibited in punishment. </p><p>The violence in her eyes didn't cripple him. It only gave him reason to fight back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ὀργή

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of moments, words, gestures, glances and touches. It might have crossed Varric's mind to get some fresh inspiration for a new novel but truth being told they made no good story. In order to write a story you need a strong beginning, a happy middle, and a memorable ending. They couldn't agree on a beginning, there was no middle way for either of them, and they would not accept an end. Theirs was a story they would rather keep to their longing fingers and their craving mouths.
> 
> ὀργή

He saw red and if he had had less control he would have grabbed her and pushed the woman into the cells.

“Are you completely mad?!”

“Keep your distance, _Templar_!” She hissed venom through her lips.

He was mortified. It all had happened too quickly: the woman had left the apothecary and he saw a mage catching up with her. She hadn't stopped but words had been exchanged. The man was persistent and Cullen only heard him shout ironically after the ‘herald’ of Andraste. The moment he grabbed the woman by her elbow the street was filled with an agonizing yell of pain as the man was brought to his knees.

Cullen couldn't remember how long it took him to reach the two or even how he shoved the woman away.

“For crying out loud, you broke the man’s arm!” Still with his arm at her throat he looked at the gathered crowd. "Somebody take him to a healer, don’t just stand there.”

At his thundering voice people started to move as awoken from a trance, either helping the man up or vanishing somewhere, probably to spread words of what they had seen. This was in no way helpful.

“Well then he’s lucky that’s all I got to break; didn't know mages mattered this much to you.”

Her words only managed to make everything worse. He did not think when he grabbed her collar.

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish? Burn down everything we’ve worked for in trying to keep blood from spilling in Haven? There is enough hate poured onto mages without the herald openly harming them. Do you even know that everyone is watching you?”

“Then make them stop! I’d be very grateful to take a piss without that awkward feeling. I told him not to touch me – twice. I take no responsibility for a thing which I am not.”

His jaw clenched as the steam leaving his mouth reached her face.

“Just because you don’t have a god doesn’t mean you can force your heresy onto others. Your denial doesn't make you right!” He let it out, by the Maker, he let it out and he knew; he knew that those words were not for her but for himself. Since that morning outside Haven he had been on a slippery path of doubt and infidelity. His words, he had carefully built until this moment so that they could ground his faith. He couldn't understand that occult fear that her lack of faith had planted into his soul with her presence. Not once had his belief been shaken; not in the darkest moments in the Circle and not in the blood-colored Kirkwall. But to hear the herald, the one who was supposed to speak in the name of Andraste, denying their right to faith and hope – he would not accept it!

And he knew he won this battle. He read it in her unnatural golden eyes, how they paled, deepening the amethyst edges of her irises. She was not shocked; she was not surprised by his reaction; she chose silence, letting him know she had acknowledged him. And he was not going to ask for anything more.

She stepped out of his now light grip and let the cold air take her place. Her eyes narrowed with displeasure but she did not fight back. He stood his ground until she turned around and retreated up the road towards her cabin. People were already whispering and he feared the consequences. What would take for the woman to realize that from the moment she stepped out of the Fade her life was not her own anymore?


End file.
